


A View From Above

by respoftw



Series: Tumblr Prompts - Hawksilver edition [63]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Clint likes to watch, M/M, Masturbation, Pietro likes to be watched, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4707077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anonymous asked:</p><p>Clint sees better from a distance – maybe Pietro likes being seen: voyeurism kink (sexy, domestic, etc)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A View From Above

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isisanubis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isisanubis/gifts).



It's one of those accepted pieces of wisdom in life that no-one ever looks up, the saving grace of countless heroes in countless comic books, countless action starts in countless action movies. Well, the saying doesn't apply to anyone who has ever spent any amount of time living with Clint Barton.

 

Too many of the Avengers had learned the hard way that they should always check the highest hiding places for errant archers. After the Biore strip incident (Biore-gate as Clint liked to call it) Tony had even included a paragraph in the Avengers Tower welcome book about the importance of checking your surroundings for “creepy-ass ex-SHIELD agents who have nothing better to do than lurk in dark corners and then try to blackmail upstanding members of the community with pictures of them doing something that is completely normal and I am not ashamed of my skin care regime, Barton”.

 

Clint really shouldn't be surprised that Pietro hadn't read the welcome book.

 

*

 

The gym, with it's high rafter beams, was one of Clint's favourite places in the Tower. Logistically and architecturally, there was no reason for the beams to even exist, the fact that Tony had installed them specifically to indulge Clint's love of high places and spy nests just made them all the more awesome (even if he had threatened to tear them down after Biore-gate).

 

There was just something freeing about watching from above, the bigger picture spread out below him, the chance to step back and not focus on the little things. It was calming, peaceful, and a godsend on nights like these when the nightmares, real and imagined, kept him awake.

 

As he navigated his way down from the ceiling space and on to the main rafter beam, Clint was surprised to realise that he wasn't alone in the gym at 3am on a Tuesday morning. So surprised, in fact, that it took him a minute to realise that Pietro was in the middle of a very different kind of workout.

 

Cheeks (and other parts of his anatomy) flushing red, Clint hastily began the climb back to safety, only freezing when the bitten-off, lust-fueled moan of “Clint” reached the rafters.

 

Jesus fucking Christ, it would take a better man than him to leave after that.

 

It's not his fault Pietro hadn't read the damn welcome book.

 

*

 

Pietro _had_ read the welcome book. He may, in fact, have made meticulous notes about the “creepy-ass ex-SHIELD agent's” favourite places to lurk in order to maximise the probability of a chance encounter.

 

Clint liked to watch over things and Pietro, he liked to be watched.

 

He especially wanted to be watched by Clint.

 

Touched by Clint, kissed by Clint, fucked by Clint. This wasn't the first night that he'd come here to do this, but the flash of purple in the rafters as he slowly traced the underside of his cock told him it would be the first night that mattered.

 

Pietro had thought that just the pretence of Clint watching him like this was hot, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. His already aching cock twitched at the imagined look on Clint's face as he realised what Pietro was doing. He can't help the choked out moan of Clint's name that escapes him, and suddenly the feel of eyes on him is like a brand on his skin, so heavy and wonderful that he almost finishes there and then.

 

No, he thinks, Clint would want to tease him, he'd want to make it as slow and tortuous as possible. So, Pietro slips his hand off his cock and tugs gently on his balls before brushing the pad of his thumb ever so softly over the tight furl buried between his cheeks. It's not enough. He needs more, more pressure, something inside, something to stretch him, to fill him.

 

As he works the tip of his finger in, just to the first knuckle, he can't help but imagine how much better Clint would feel inside him. If Clint could just descend from the rafters, it could be his fingers, his cock inside that hot, tight space.

 

He could ask. He could call out, right now and beg Clint to fuck him. Not yet, he thinks. It's too soon, he's not sure what Clint would do, whether he would run or hide or make Pietro's dreams come true. Better to play it safe, Pietro reaches out for the lube and quickly loses himself in the pleasure.

 

One hand working his dripping cock, while the other hand, slick and wet, stretches his hole, until he's lazily fucking two fingers in and out. Would this be enough to let him take Clint, he wonders, or would he need more? Would it burn, the just-this-side-of-right pain that he craves?

 

God, he needs to be filled. Needs to be stretched, needs to be owned.

 

“I want...” The words spill out, unbidden and he buries his face in the crash mat. He wants Clint, God, does he want Clint.

 

The crash mat muffles his voice, the only reason that he feels safe to let himself ask for what he wants, for Clint. His fingers in his ass, fist wrapped around his cock and Clint's name on his tongue, Pietro comes, the spurting of his cock streaking his chest and the mat around him. He's too boneless to care, he'll clean up later.

 

He just wishes that Clint was here to hold him but the next time he looks up, the flash of purple is gone.

 

_Maybe tomorrow._

 

*

 

Clint's chest heaves as he lies flat out in the ceiling crawl space, his dick soft and sticky with his own release.

 

He can't quite believe what he just saw, what he just heard. It might be wishful thinking but at times, he had felt that Pietro was aware of his presence, that he was performing just for him. Blue-green eyes burning a hole into him even though Clint knew it was too dark in the rafters for Pietro to see much of anything.

 

Clint thinks he might just visit this spot again tomorrow.


End file.
